


Breaking the Habit

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with Chris's morning routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Habit

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : Realistic anal sex.  
>  **Disclaimer** : Obviously fictional content is FICTIONAL. I don't know these people, and don't claim to. Don't be hatin, we just like the fuckin.

The first cigarette of the morning, that's always been Chris's favorite.

He has a routine, see.

Turn off the alarm on the Blackberry. He rarely presses snooze, unless it was an incredibly late night. He wouldn't go so far as to call himself a morning person, but he's just never found anything but bitter regret in the hands of a snooze button. It's like plastic surgery: a sad attempt at delaying the inevitable.

Pick up the paper. This sometimes means the one from the day before, but that's okay. It's a hard knock life.

Take a shit, read the first half of the paper.

Go out on the porch. Stretch. Breathe in the greyness, because even when it's sunny in LA, there's a lingering grey of concrete and smog that blankets everything. Light up a smoke and sit with the rest of the paper.

Enjoy the fuck out of that first cigarette. The high is unnoticeable the rest of the day, but that first one… always sends a thrum through his veins. And the world narrows down to it, down to that cig in his hand and the plume of the smoke through tight lips.

The mornings this routine is ignored, or avoided, or pushed aside -- Well, they're not good for his digestive system, that's the fucking truth, so he doesn't do it very often. Doesn't let people stay the night unless it's on the couch. But the people he sleeps with aren't usually interested in spending the night, anyways; the girls eager to not be seen without the mask of makeup and the boys eager to not be seen by anybody on the street. So it's never been that big of an issue.

Until now. Today.

What wakes him up today is heat. There's a furnace in bed with him, swear to God. Or his AC is broken, but fuck he doesn't need that so soon after moving in. Or ever. His brain is fuzzy, possibly hungover and/or sleep-deprived, and it takes a while for the thought of checking his Blackberry for the time to ooze into his consciousness.

Then the furnace presses a kiss to his shoulder.

Chris tenses, a little, bringing a hand casually up--God, feels like it's going through molasses with the heat and the _early_ \--to reach for the body spooned behind him. It's male, he's got that one. Girls are usually cold, truth be told, and plus he can hazily feel the semi pushing gently against his ass. His fingers slide along a neck into short hairs, and a voice murmurs in his ear.

"Mornin."

A smile tugs at Chris's lips, his eyes drifting shut again as his cloudy suspicions are confirmed. He contemplates going back to sleep. Contemplates it through Karl making his way across Chris's shoulder with his lips, contemplates it through Karl's free hand winding its way down Chris's side to tangle in his pubic hair. He doesn't touch Chris's cock, not really. Just tucks his fingers around the base, as if settling in.

Chris can't stop fucking smiling. And in the end, that's what keeps him from allowing sleep to pull him under again.

He tilts his head away from the pillow, towards Karl's lips, and Karl takes the hint, biting down Chris's jaw then back again to nip lightly at his earlobe. His hand starts stroking up Chris's cock, gently, and Chris grunts, pleased.

Karl shifts his hips and Chris is sliding a knee up to grant him access when it occurs to him that it's morning, and his body is most definitely not expecting something to go _into_ his ass at this point. Quite the opposite, in fact; he didn't wash up spectacularly thoroughly in between the first (awesome) sex and the falling asleep, and he can tell his asshole is still slick, the normally tight muscles recovering and a little worn out, and he's not sure how it would go if--

Karl's fingers are very nearly breaching him when Chris grabs his wrist. "Messy," is all he manages, feeling himself flush. He loves sex and all its resultant fluids, but dealing with shit is so totally unsexy, not to mention above and beyond the call of duty in this type of… situation. This new of a thing.

Karl stops for a moment. Then reaches around Chris to the bedside table. Chris squints and sees him come back with two shiny squares, and raises an eyebrow, but Karl distracts him with kisses and when he feels latex-covered fingers push into him, he groans in mild but happy surprise. Two minutes later, he wants to write a loveletter to whoever invented lubricated condoms, and to Karl for being quick on his feet. So to speak.

Karl pauses before his fingers are all the way out--Chris can feel the round slick tip of his cock nudging up to replace them--to kiss the corner of Chris's mouth. "All right?"

Chris nods, his hand on Karl's hip, their bodies flush. He's willing to give it a try.

He can handle feeling full to the brim, it turns out, even though it's weird and not quite as good as it was last night, in the prostate arena, but it's morning and it's slow and lazy and Karl's hands and mouth everywhere they can get and Chris is surprised when a quiet but firm orgasm overtakes him, the warm spill of semen wringing a groan and a stuttering curse out of Karl as he follows suit.

Their movements slow, becoming honey-like, wet with sweat and come and Chris knows the denouement is going to be really ugly, here, but Karl, fucking Karl handles it without missing a beat, keeping hold of the condom as he pulls out then carefully rolling it off his spent cock until it's rolled inside out with the first one, so all their messy secrets are contained. Then he hands them to Chris--who would protest, but it's half his mess, anyways, and he's kind of past the point of embarrassment, now--and pushes him bodily off the bed with kisses, nudging him with his nose towards the bathroom.

Chris gets caught up in kissing him, though, figuring a few more seconds can't kill him. Karl bites his lip with a chuckle, then pulls back and slaps his ass with his free hand. Chris almost yelps, his muscles jumping. "Get your arse in there, Pine. I'll be in for a shower in a bit, if you like."

"Yeah," Chris agrees after his mind races for a second, because he's got candles somewhere in his bathroom cupboards, and a shower with Karl sounds like just about the best idea ever. "Yeah, sure. Give me ten minutes." And he grins at Karl before closing the door.

He can almost feel Karl's gaze lingering on his ass through the wood. It feels awesome. He feels high, heavy and indulgent like he's had that first cigarette. He's going to let his body purge itself, then have a shower with the hottest man in fourteen time zones. Then maybe he'll read the paper. Have breakfast. Then talk Karl back into bed. Or couch. Or lawn chair.

Oh yeah, fuck his old routine. This one is much, much better.

 _  
**fin**   
_


End file.
